Hanrick carried the unconscious Leon carefully in his arms, holding him as though he might shatter at the slightest mistake. Behind him, Sullen followed closely, her worry impossible to hide.
"Will he be alright, Elder Hanrick?" she asked quietly.
Hanrick didn't slow his pace. "He will survive," he said firmly. "And if the pool responds as the records claim… he may come out even stronger."
Sullen nodded, clinging to that fragile hope. There was nothing else she could do now but trust him, and pray.
They ascended toward the second peak of Creed Mountain, the path long and unforgiving. Narrow stone steps wound upward in endless rows, each one carved with deliberate precision. The climb took nearly half an hour before they reached the cave entrance.
Four guardians stood watch.
"I have authorization from the High Master," Hanrick said calmly.
The guards exchanged a glance, then stepped aside. They had already received orders.
Hanrick entered first.
As Sullen moved to follow, a hand blocked her path.
"Outsiders are not permitted," one guard said evenly.
Her eyes widened. "What? Elder Hanrick is my friend, Leon is my student!"
Hanrick turned, his voice gentle but firm. "Stay here. I'll take care of him. I swear he'll recover."
Sullen hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "…Fine."
She stepped back, fists clenched, watching as Hanrick carried Leon into the depths of the cave.
The cave opened into a quiet chamber.
At its center lay a small pool encircled by smooth white stones. The air was cool and damp, filled with the slow rhythm of dripping water. This was the Purification Pool, a sacred place forbidden to nearly everyone.
Legend said it had taken decades to fill, fed only by rare droplets that fell from the cave's ceiling once every few days.
Hanrick lowered Leon gently into the water.
"This will save you," he said softly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then...
A faint golden glow bloomed beneath the surface.
It spread slowly, steadily, until the pool shone like molten sunlight.
Hanrick raised his arm to shield his eyes, warmth washing over his skin as the light intensified.
He waited.
---
Garran and Rowan cut through the sky at full speed, Lucas's unconscious body secured between them.
The wind howled as they crossed the outskirts of the capital Leyndell, the vast city spreading beneath them like a sea of lights and steel. Towers, districts, and ancient structures blurred past as they headed straight for the heart of it all.
The Drakebane residence.
From above, it was unmistakable.
An enormous estate dominated an entire district of the capital, surrounded by towering walls of white stone etched with ancient sigils. Within them stood a sprawling complex of grand halls, private towers, training grounds, and gardens, an ancestral stronghold that radiated authority even from the air.
This was not merely a home.
It was a symbol.
They descended swiftly, landing in the inner courtyard with a heavy rush of displaced air.
"Get Elder Julius. Now." Garran barked, urgency cutting through his voice.
"I'm on it!" Rowan replied instantly, sprinting off without hesitation.
Garran didn't wait.
He carried Lucas straight toward the medical wing, his steps fast but careful, and laid him gently onto a prepared bed.
For a brief second, panic flashed across his face.
Lucas's skin was marred with dark veins glowing faintly red, traces of demonic essence still crawling beneath the surface.
But that wasn't what terrified Garran most.
Lucas wasn't breathing.
At first, Garran had thought he was dead.
Only Athena's explanation, that Lucas's soul had not fully returned to his body had stopped him from breaking down completely. That fragile hope was the only reason he'd brought him here, to the one place that still held a chance of a miracle.
Moments later, Rowan returned with four figures in tow.
Two elderly men, their presence heavy and ancient. Two middle-aged men, their auras restrained but sharp.
One of the elders stepped forward immediately, a full beard framing his stern face as he began examining Lucas, Elder Julius.
"What happened?" he asked gravely.
"That's why I brought him here," Garran replied, forcing his voice steady. "I'll explain everything."
And he did.
The shattered mana core. Its impossible restoration. The confrontation with the Abyssal Dominion. The descent into the Abyss. The sudden breakthroughs. And finally... this.
The room fell silent as Garran finished.
Elder Julius reached out and gently brushed Lucas's cheek, his expression darkening with each passing second.
"His body is saturated with demonic essence," he said slowly. "I've never seen anything like this."
Garran nodded. "That's why I called you. No one understands demonic phenomena better than you."
Julius examined the veins more closely, eyes tracking the faint crimson pulses beneath Lucas's skin.
After a long moment, he straightened.
"…He's lacking pure mana," he said.
Garran opened his mouth to respond—
Then stopped.
The air changed.
A crushing presence rolled through the room, causing the walls to tremble and the floor to hum faintly beneath their feet.
Everyone turned toward the entrance.
Garran's eyes widened slightly.
"This aura…" he murmured.
The doors swung open.
"The Patriarch."